O Hari, if you will insist on touching me

Rādhā:
O Hari, if you will insist on touching me,
The sin of murdering a wife will fall on you:
You are a guileful lover full of passion
I know not whether it be sweet or bitter.

When passion is outpoured, I shiver
Like an arrow-smitten bounding antelope:
O do not realise your hopes before the time,--
Savour is never lacking to the wise man's end.

Vidyāpati says: I see it clear,
That honeyed fruit is never green.